Love on a Wire
by blainestiel
Summary: T FOR PROFANITY: Arthur was never one to become heart-broken, but something inside him snapped. *first chapter is crap, it get's better, I promise*
1. Where Arthur is going insane

**A/N:** *does a dance* FUCK YEAH INCEPTION FAN FICTION! *dances again* I'm so excited, I seriously hope you guys like this. And if I messed anything up, like any technical things, PLEASE tell me. I've only seen Inception twice (though I've studied it on the internet plenty) I want to make sure I get things right. So here ya go!

Enjoi~

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Arthur stood alone in the middle of a large, colorless desert. The sky seemed gray, and the ground was barely a shade darker than white. The air was dry, causing Arthur to loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves. He raised his hand up against the burning sun, trying to see if there was anything in the abandoned desert.

"Arthur?"

He knew that voice. He quickly turned around, trying to locate the voice. Then there she was. Had she been there the whole time? Ariadne stuffed her hands in her pockets, and shook her head. "Here we are again. This is, what, the hundredth time we've met?"

"Yeah," Arthur said sheepishly.

Ariadne looked at him with a look of disdain. "You realize what you're doing? This is what Cobb did to Mal, and you know how that turned out."

"But at least you're not dead," Arthur muttered.

"Yes, that is true," she paused for a minute. "You miss me. That's why you've been hooking up to the PASIV machine almost every night. You don't need to do this, Arthur. Just let me go, please. For your own sake." She licked her lips and took a slow step towards the stiff point man. Soon enough, they were barely inches from each other. "It's been a year since you've really seen me, anyways."

"And that is _killing_ me," Arthur admitted to her. He reached down and grabbed her hands. "I want to really touch you, not the projection of you. Ariadne, why did you have to leave?"

Ariadne intertwined their fingers. "Why don't you bring the scene back for us again? Just to refresh our memories?"

Arthur didn't want to watch it again. He remembered the memory all too well, and he always hated this part of his reoccurring dream. The scenery changed, and then he and the fake Ariadne were in a drab hotel room. In the corner of the room sat a trembling girl. She had her knees pulled up against her chest, and her chin rested on her kneecaps. At her toes sat a toppled over bishop. Arthur felt a lump in his throat as he gazed at the girl.

"I look terrible," projection Ariadne observed.

Arthur nodded tensely. He clenched his fists as there was a knock on the hotel room door. The Ariadne from Arthur's memory didn't flinch, and she didn't take her eyes off of the totem.

"This is where I start to become worried," Arthur muttered as he waited for the frantic sound of his voice to float through the door.

"It's me, are you in there?" Arthur said within the memory. He had been careful not to say their names, incase there had been anyone listening. It had been only five days after the Fischer job, anyways. It wasn't exactly _safe_ to be nonchalantly chatting each other up, but the look in Ariadne's eyes as he watched her hail a cab from the airport had alerted him that she wasn't exactly stable.

Arthur crossed his arms as he watched himself from the memory practically break down the door to get in, since the stunned Ariadne hadn't moved an inch to let him in. Once Arthur had gotten inside the hotel room and heard how eerily quiet it was in the room, he knew something had been wrong. His hand automatically went to his trusty handgun he had concealed deep behind his coat. But if only a gun would've helped Arthur in what happened next.

When Arthur first spotted Ariadne sitting in the corner of the room, emotionless and blank, he couldn't help but suck in a tight breath. He knew that everyone had trouble after their first dream. But Ariadne had seemed like such a natural- he didn't expect her to have such a downfall. Slowly, he approached Ariadne like you would a suicide jumper. "Ariadne, are you alright?"

The skin between her eyebrows had crinkled. Then she bite her lips and spoke in a raspy voice that made Arthur want to cringe. "It's not worth it."

"What's not worth it?" Arthur asked, his fists knotting.

Ariadne looked up to Arthur, a slight smirk coloring her face. "The pure creation of the dream. It's. Not. Worth it." she drew out the last phrase of her sentence, her eyes never dropping from Arthur's. "What almost happened to Cobb and Saito was unnecessary. To be _trapped_ in your own subconscious..." she trailed off, her eyes practically glazing over. "Have you ever been there, to Limbo?" she asked robotically.

Arthur didn't want to answer her, provoking whatever was going through her head any further. "Ariadne, what you're experiencing right now is perfectly normal for someone who just experienced what you have in the past week."

"I had to shoot Mal. It was just her projection, though," she said, ignoring the fact that Arthur had even spoken. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Arthur had beaten her to it.

"Ariadne, why don't you go take a shower, I'll clean up, and then we'll have a conversation. You aren't yourself right now. Come on," he reached his hand out towards the crumbling girl in front of him, and the REAL Arthur swallowed hard as he watched it all unfold. He watched himself, so ignorant to what was about to happen. He looked into Ariadne's eyes and wondered how he didn't see the uncertainty and pain that he saw in them now.

"You need to leave," she murmured. "Now."

Arthur had been taken aback. What did she mean, he needed to leave? "Ariadne, I don't get-"

"I'm done with this... the dreams. I just can't deal with it all. And Arthur, you being here is making me question my sanity. Please, you just need to leave, and let me be," Ariadne almost sobbed. "I'm sorry, but please, just get _out_." She stood up now and started pushing on Arthur's chest.

The point man wore a confused expression as Ariadne tried to kick him out of the hotel room. "Ariadne, don't you want me here? I can help you with what you're dealing with, I promise!" he pleaded. But the architect wasn't hearing it. Arthur had decided it was time for a different route, a more personal take on things. "I don't want to leave you, Ariadne. Back in the dream, when I told you to give me a kiss, I knew it would never work, but I just wanted to do it anyways."

Ariadne barely let up, but she was now crying uncontrollably. "Please, Arthur don't-"

"During the few months I've known you, you've made me feel something inside myself that I've never felt before. It's weird and foreign to me, and I know that I never gave any hint or clue during the Fischer job, but you just have to listen to me, Ariadne. I _care_ about you, please stop trying to push me away," Arthur tripped up on his own fit (a rare occurrence) and stumbled into the doorframe, which he gripped for dear life. Only during his angst filled teenage years had he felt this much turmoil inside of him, and it was also the first time in a long time that he cared so much for a single person. "Please..."

Ariadne cupped her hands on both sides of his face stood up high on her tip-toes. Next thing Arthur knew, they were kissing. And it wasn't nearly as short as their first kiss had been. Not by a long shot. This kiss was full of passion, and emotion. Arthur could feel her tears on her cheeks, and even in her kiss. It tasted salty, Arthur couldn't help but notice.

But then it ended. Ariadne retracted back down to her natural height and reached for the doorknob. "Good-bye, Arthur. Thank you for everything."

The door closed with a powerful sound, almost bring the true Arthur who had been watching the memory to his knees. Everything faded away then, and the next thing the point man knew, he was waking up in his bedroom. He looked to his side, as he always did when he woke up, and let out a long sigh when he saw that Ariadne wasn't laying beside him. Why would she be in the first place?

Arthur stumbled out into his kitchen in the same clothes he feel asleep in: a crinkled suit that he hasn't taken off in over three weeks. He hadn't the energy to change, or take a shower for that matter. He reached up in his cupboard for his flask, which he gladly filled with straight vodka. He always had a high tolerance when it came to alcohol, anyways.

And this is what he would do all day. Sit, and drink.

"What's the matter with you," he grunted towards himself. "You used to be the best point man a team could ask for... Cobb could ask for..." his thoughts trailed off to three months after the Fischer job, three months after Ariadne stepped out of his life forever.

He was sitting in a running shower when he heard his cell phone ringing. He stepped out of the shower, not bothering to turn off the water or grab a towel, picked up his phone and answered it. "Hello."

"Arthur, it's Cobb."

Arthur didn't say anything.

"Are you there?" Cobb asked over the phone.

Arthur had nodded, then remembered Cobb couldn't see him. "Yeah, sure. I'm here. What?"

"...Are you okay, Arthur?"

"Why did you call, Cobb?" Arthur snapped, longing to just go sit in the shower again. The brisk air was starting to bother him, and he ached for the warmth of the water running over him, washing the tension away.

Cobb hesitated, but only for a moment. "Eames is getting a job lined up, and asked me to get in contact with you. I'm not going to be involved in it personally, but he says that you've been ignoring his calls..."

"Not intentionally," Arthur said honestly. "Tell Eames, no. I'm not good to work."

"Are you hurt?" Cobb sounded even more worried. It wasn't like his point man to be acting this way, unless something was seriously wrong. And by the tone of Arthur's voice, something was _definitely_ wrong.

"My subconscious is no good. Not now..." Arthur told Cobb thickly. It was the first time he had said it out loud, and it almost choked him to say it. Arthur, the dreamer, not able to dream properly. That almost sounds laughable.

Cobb immediately felt guilty. He was the one that dragged Arthur into the Inception job. But as Cobb looked over to the living room where he saw his two children playing, he didn't think that he'd do anything differently. That thought made him feel sick to his stomach, feeling like one of the worst people to walk the face of the Earth. "Well," Cobb started again, "do you know how to get in touch with Ariadne?"

Arthur hung up the phone, ready to return to the shower.

000

In present day, Arthur sat on the couch with his flask in his hand. He took a long sip, then wiped his mouth after he drank. He couldn't help but notice that he was growing a beard. He groaned as he leaned back against the couch. He needed to clean himself up, he knew. But every time he shaved, every time he put on a new suit, every time he put his hand on the doorknob, ready to go, he ended up back on the couch, with his vodka.

"It's not even the fact that she just closed the door on me, after I practically confused my love to her," he said to himself, feeling rather tipsy at this point. "It's what she told me before she kicked me out. About it 'not being worth it.'" He took another long drink from the flask. "IS IT WORTH IT?" he was yelling now.

Everything he thought he believed was challenged the day Ariadne walked out of his life for good. "What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do!" she shouted at the wall.

"You really should get this whole habit you have going on checked out," a voice leaked from behind his apartment door.

He knew that fucking voice anywhere.

He walked over to the door, opened it, and punched that British douche in the face. He stumbled a bit, but didn't fall. He straightened his back and rubbed his jaw. "Now," Eames started, "was that really such a way to greet your old friend?"

Arthur punched him again.


	2. Where Arthur gets back in the game

A/N: sorry this chapter took so long. and I can promise you, it's a lot better than the first chapter. I've wrestled with whether or not I should just delete this story all together, but after finishing up this chapter I've decided against it. I'm really enjoying writing this story, now. hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks for baring with me.

* * *

Eames reeled back from where Arthur had struck him. "Bloody hell, Arthur! I think you broke my fucking nose!"

"What are you doing here?" Arthur slurred, still feeling a bit fuzzy. "I already told Cobb; I can't dream right now. Get the hell away from me and go find yourself another point man." Arthur started to close the door but Eames had wedged his foot in. "Eames..." Arthur growled.

Hands covered in blood from where he had been trying to stop the gushing from his nose, Eames raised them in surrender. "Can I come in for a few minutes, just to get cleaned up? Spare me a towel, or something?" Arthur looked at the Forger's crooked nose, knowing that it would have to be set. And there's nothing like the bright sight of fresh blood to sober you up. Arthur let out a long sigh before answering.

"Get in here before I change my mind and punch you again."

Without hesitation Eames burst through the door. "Where's your bathroom, darling?"

"Second door to the left," Arthur said as Eames ducked into the room, "and don't call me-" Arthur had started to say, but Eames had already closed the door. "-darling..." The word hung in the silence as Arthur shut his apartment door. He looked around his apartment, wincing. It had been a while since he had remotely cleaned the place, and he hoped that Eames hadn't had gotten a good look at his uncleanliness. Arthur quickly started gathering dishes and food from around his kitchen and living room and dumping them in the trashcan; he can simply buy new dishes later.

Just as he was stowing away his flask he heard a sharp grunt come from the bathroom, followed by Eames letting out a stream of rugged profanities. The Point Man walked towards the bathroom and gently knocked on the door. "Everything alright in there, Mr. Eames?"

"Fine and fucking dandy, you stupid bastard." Eames answered sharply.

Arthur licked his lips before replying. "I'm sorry, it was instincts. You surprised me, and I wasn't in the mood for visitors..."

Eames opened the door, glaring at Arthur. His nose was straight again, but he held a towel against it to stop the bleeding. He brought the towel down before speaking. "Arthur, you haven't been 'in the mood for visitors' for a year now. Cobb's worried about you. Fuck, *I'm* worried about you. That's a year since you've been on a job," Eames quickly eyed the Point Man's arms where he had his sleeves rolled up, "but it seems you've been hooking up to the PASIV on a regular basis. Christ, Arthur, you look like a fucking junkie. In retrospect I guess that's what you are-"

"Did you come here to criticize me or brief me on a job? Cobb called a few nights ago saying you were lining one up." Arthur said crossly, not wanting to speak of his addiction to dreams anymore.

"I want you to get back in the game." Eames stated, bringing the towel back up to his nose. "It's not a hard job, just a simple extraction on an old man. No big corporations, just some family drama. Perfect starting job, seeing how you're a bit rusty." His words were muffled, but Arthur had understood perfectly. He knew that this was what he needed, to continue on. His loathing of the loss of an almost lover was incredibly out of character for him, and it had gone on too long. He knew he needed to become the stone-faced point man once again.

Eames eyed him. "So, you in or out?"

Arthur took a deep breath, and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm in, I'm in..."

Eames lowered the towel again and slopped it in Arthur's sink. "Fantastic. Pack your bags, old boy. We're going to Paris."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Paris? Why Paris?" Whenever he heard the word 'Paris' he automatically thought of one person. One person who could possibly end up accidentally throwing even the easiest job for him...

"That's where the mark lives..." Eames paused for a second. "Paris isn't going to be a problem, is it?"

"No, of course not," Arthur answered immediately. Without another word Arthur turned from Eames and headed to his bedroom to get himself packed.

000

Paris is a beautiful place. It holds beautiful food, beautiful sites, and beautiful people. Arthur and Eames walked along side each other, suitcases in tow, down the lovely streets. Their hotel wasn't too far from the airport, so rather than cram into a stuffy cab like sardines, they decided to simply walk the distance.

"I love Paris." Eames said out of nowhere. The Point Man looked over to him, raising his eyebrow so slightly. Eames continued. "So many fond memories and friends."

"Mmm.." Arthur said passively. "Let's just get to our hotel rooms."

"Oh you wet towel, can't we have a bit of fun before the work actually starts?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he was actually aching to get back to work. Even though this was a very easy job, Arthur could feel the adrenaline running through him. He was ready to find out every single last thing out about their mark and his family. He was ready to pour over news paper articles and classified files. He was ready to throw himself into his work and not have any time for him to think properly about anything else. "Let's just get to our rooms." He repeated.

"Oh, fuck you. So you only drink when you're alone, then?" Eames huffed, turning away from Arthur. "Because if I recall correctly, you had quite a bit of some nice Russian Vodka tucked away in your cabinets in your apartment back in New York."

"I can't deny that, but I'm working now. I don't want to drink. Besides, I think I've drunk enough in the past year to last me till I'm in my forties." Arthur observed, and saying the fact out loud made him feel disgusted with himself. "No alcohol for me tonight, or any other nights." They stopped in front of the revolving doors of their grandiose hotel.

Eames laughed loudly. "You have fun practicing your sobriety, you stick in the mud. I'll meet you at the warehouse tomorrow morning then." But before taking off the Forger had one last thing to add. "Darling, do you think you can drop my luggage off in my room?" Eames didn't wait for Arthur to reject before he went off to hail a cab. Arthur awkwardly grabbed the handle of the suitcase and started into the hotel.

000

Arthur settled himself in the lush chair in his hotel room. He had dropped off Eames's luggage (as much as he wanted to simply leave it on the curbside, he didn't want a drunk and angry Eames interrupting him in the early hours of the night) and he had unpacked his suitcase, neatly hanging up each one of his suits in a color coordinated manner. He had to admit, it felt nice to be the OCD Point Man again, rather than the emotional drunk.

He pulled his laptop out of it's case and opened it. He quickly clicked on a program he had installed that police typically use as their data-base. He typed in the mark's name and clicked enter. What he wasn't expecting was the long list of different felonies that resulted.

Arthur squinted as he scrolled through the list. There were numerous accounts of breaking and entering, and he managed to find that there have been two restraining orders placed against the mark. "Jesus Christ, Nathan Wimble, what the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur sucked in a breath as he came across a charge against the mark for rape.

This was supposed to be an easy job. From what Eames had told him, they had been hired by the mark's son to extract information on where the mark's personal vault was located on the estate at which the mark lived. Seeing how your typically not supposed to ask for further details on such an easy job like this, Eames figured that they were probably estranged; not the perfect picture of a happy family, but whenever you did insider family jobs, obviously home life isn't the greatest.

For now Arthur put aside the shock factor of their mark and tried to focus on some of the more basic background info. Nathan Wimble and his wife (now deceased) moved to Paris to retire seven years ago. Wimble had worked as a very successful doctor back in California for thirty-four long years. He was now fifty-eight, living a comfortable life on his estate with many different french mistresses. He had two son's, Garret Wimble and Morton Wimble. Garret was the one who hired them, and he was happily married with one child himself. Morton Wimble was unaffiliated with any women, though he was the older of the two children.

After finishing up the background check Arthur clicked back on the list of charges against Nathan. He rubbed his eyes, getting a slight headache. This guy was an outstanding doctor, with many awards to back him up. It was almost illogical for him to be a criminal as well.

Arthur reached for his personal cell phone (he had three, ones for clients, one that is a decoy, and a personal phone for "friends"). Arthur quickly skipped past Ariadne's name and clicked on Eames. Of course, he didn't answer, but that didn't stop Arthur from leaving a message.

"Eames, what the fuck? Do you know who our mark is? He's a criminal. And from the looks of it, a lot of the charges have been made by family members, so I'm guessing Garret Wimble wants us to find more than just the location of his father's vault. We need to discuss this with Garret further, and we're going to need someone to get close to Nathan Wimble to find out more about how he acts when he's by himself..." Arthur looked over to the clock, which flashed that it was eleven thirty in big red letters. Not too late, but Arthur was feeling terribly jet-lagged. "Look, we'll talk about this tomorrow. Don't be late, this just got serious." With that he hung up and set his phone down.

In the back of his head he was feeling slightly worried that this might not be the best job to start him out on, but at this point he was in too deep.

000

Arthur sat in the bed staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He was so incredibly tired, and yet he couldn't sleep. Arthur rolled onto his side and a glint of silver caught his eye.

The PASIV. He wanted to hook up so bad. He knew that after he had hooked up and got his daily fill of heartbreak he would be able to sleep. But he was on a job, and he couldn't indulge in his own use of the dream machine while he was working.

He got out of bed, picked up the PASIV, and set in carefully in an empty drawer so he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.


	3. Where Arthur gets a shock

A/N: short chapter, I know. I was going to make it longer, but since I'm getting pretty busy I decided just to upload what I already had. well, enjoy. let me know if anyone seems OOC or anything, I feel like Arthur gets a bit like that sometimes... thanks!

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Arthur was the first to arrive at the warehouse, of course. He had stopped by a quaint cafe to get himself some breakfast and a coffee. As he walked through the empty warehouse he couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the days they spent in the same exact warehouse while preparing for the inception job.

Arthur set down all of his belongings on a dusty desk and took off his coat. This place was in desperate need of a little bit of cleaning. He walked over to a storage closet and started dragging out ratty lawn chairs. The screeching of the chairs against the cement was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Arthur starting speaking before he turned around. "Eames, I swear to god, if you knew about our Mark I'll-" he turned around to face who he thought was the Forger behind him, only to see the small frame of Ariadne. Arthur went stark white. She smiled at him.

"Hi." That one word that came out of her mouth almost sent Arthur to his knees. His hand quickly dived into his pocket to retrieve his totem. This had to be a dream. It had to. His hand clenched around his red die, though it was not enough to assure him of reality.

Arthur realized how odd he must look, staring at the Architect with wide eyes. "Hello." He croaked miserably. He swallowed, trying to retrieve his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm working. Eames came to me with a job offer, and I accepted."She told him. Arthur's face contorted in confusion. Wait, she said she was working? Wasn't that the whole point of banishing him from her life, so she could forget about dreams all together? Now she was taking jobs like it was nothing, and that made Arthur angry.

"But I thought-" He started to say, but Eames burst through the door of the warehouse.

"Hello Ari, Arthur." He walked in between them and over to an unoccupied desk. He dumped his things onto the desk before turning to face Arthur and Ariadne, who hadn't taken their eyes off of each other. "Arthur, I got your voicemail last night, and I honestly had no idea our mark was such a trouble maker, truthfully."

Ariadne broke eye contact when she heard Eames's statement. "What? I thought he was just some harmless old man?" Eames raised his eyebrows to Arthur, urging him to speak on the topic. It took Arthur a second to adjust his brain to start streaming topics on the job now, rather than confused and angry thoughts aimed towards Ariadne.

"Well, he has been charged with numerous felonies over the past seven years. Crimes including breaking and entering, harassment, rape, and one case of grand theft auto. Quite a few family members have filed restraining orders against him."

Ariadne put her hands on her hips and stared at the floor before looking up to Arthur again. "Wow. And you said that this started seven years ago? What's the significance in that?" She asked Arthur directly. Arthur took a deep breath. She seemed totally unaffected by his presence, and by the fact that they were discussing the job. Arthur didn't know if he was going to be able to function as neatly as she.

"Well, he and his wife retired seven years ago and moved to Paris. His wife died shortly after that of breast cancer." Arthur answered her, but he didn't look her in the eye. It was too weird.

"I don't know about you guys," Eames started as he walked closer to them, "but it sounds almost as if he threw his perfect, moral filled lifestyle out the window when his wife died. But we can't be sure."

Ariadne nodded. "I agree, we can't be sure." She paused for a moment, leaving an awkward silence in the wake. "Well, I can't start up the designs until we know more about his personal life, so I'm going to go get some breakfast. Arthur? Eames? Want anything?" She asked innocently.

"Just some coffee, darling." Eames smiled before turning back towards his desk.

Ariadne looked over to Arthur, who was stiff. "Uh, I'm good. I already have some." He said slowly. She nodded, grabbed her coat, and walked out of the warehouse. Arthur let out a long sigh he'd been holding in since she'd gotten there. "What. The. Hell." He ground out, slowly walking over to Eames. The Forger looked to Arthur dumbfounded.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"What is she doing here?" Arthur cut straight to the point. "She's supposed to be damaged, shutting out everyone and everything that has to do with dreams. Why is she here, and why is she working with us? What did you do?" Arthur's voice got louder and louder, causing Eames to look at him with a look of utter confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Arthur, this is her second job this year. She's done a hell of a lot more than you with her life since the inception. Maybe you should take notes." He started to turn away, but stopped. "What made you think she was rotting away in a corner somewhere?"

Immediately the image of Ariadne shoving him out of the door appeared in Arthur's mind. Her tear stained face, so broken and unbearable. "Shortly after the inception I went to check up on her. She was a wreck. A complete wreck. She told me flat out that she didn't want to see me again, and she never wanted to work in extraction again either." Arthur told Eames, leaving out all of the parts that involved romance.

Eames wiped his mouth. "Bloody hell. Is this why you've been hiding out for a year? Arthur, that's ridiculous."

"I had some personal issues." Arthur tried to explain, though Eames had stopped listening. "Eames," Arthur's voice was pleading, "why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't anyone tell me she was okay?"

"Because no one knew anything was wrong in the first place. She's been hard to get in contact with, but apparently she's been getting offers from extractors far and wide to be their architect." Eames said simply. "She was probably just experiencing the repercussions of going down too deeply during her first go-around when you two last spoke. You should've known better than to think she was never going to recover-"

"She seemed so sure." Arthur said vaguely. The conversation was over. Arthur and Eames returned to their own areas of the warehouse, though Arthur couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. He had just left her there, alone when she needed him the most. But what else could he have done? Trying to wedge himself into her life when he wasn't wanted would have just upset her even more so than she already was. He couldn't help but think how different the past year might have been if he had simply stayed when he should have.


End file.
